


Purified

by Aogiri_Tree_Tatara



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gift Fic, M/M, NSFW, Religious Conflict, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:22:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aogiri_Tree_Tatara/pseuds/Aogiri_Tree_Tatara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amon is a priest, Kaneki is a fallen angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purified

**Author's Note:**

> lol there's quite a bit to add so i remember i said something about writing for many days of amoneki week but unfortunately i was only able to conjure up like 1 and a half, so here's the one and the other half is still a WIP
> 
> there's pretty questionable content here, I think, in terms of amon's conflict with Kaneki and shit, and its something ive never put out there before s o here it is i guess, i hope it isnt too bad?? haha, but yeah
> 
> also the beginning part in italics is a dream, the rest is in the present or w/e, just so no one gets confused
> 
> this was written as a gift for sunset-tower, too, one of my very good friends and i hope you enjoy it leafy! if you dont i com p le te ly underst and

_ A brisk saunter through the woods to clear his mind of the incessant and constant confessions he is forced to hear day in and day out is all he wants. It’s absurd, really, the things he has to do and he sometimes goes full days without a break while still having to listen to the sins of others--any sane person would quit within a week.  _

 

_ His pace slackens as he nears his usual break spot; it’s a clearing amidst the bushel of trees and underbrush a good while off from the church house. Arriving in seconds time he reaches inside the pocket of his overcoat  and pulls out a pack of Marlboro Lights--the cheap kind. He shakes the palm-sized container, biting the single cigarette that peeks out of the box and carefully holds it between his teeth while he exchanges the pack for his lighter.  _

 

_ “...wait...more…” _

 

_ Hm? _

 

_ He catches the mumbled words and his eyes dart left to right searching frantically for its source. The only things he sees are the deep greens and browns of the the trees encircling him, but, still, he hears a hushed voice...no, it sounds like, two? He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and drops it to the ground; should he light it now he’d give his position away.  _

 

_ He takes calculated steps now trying to follow the sound of the voices but it proves to be difficult. Sometimes they sound a ways off, other times they sound right next to him, and others as if they were leading him in circles. Then, he stops in the midst of his search. What is the point? Why should he care? A quick smoke is all he wants, anyways. However as his hand is back inside his pocket fishing out the cigarettes he’s suddenly brought to an area just beside a large tree and before a proper thought can process he’s met with a sight. _

 

_ Feathery, jet black wings each as wide as his own arm’s spread far apart cloud his vision and a contrasting head of snow white hair cloud his vision. A shrill moan escapes this deity's lips, or a pained howl, as a man without any describable features thrusts up into it. Fingers dig deeply into its waist, and the being welcomes it as it pushes roughly down onto the man’s cock. He is forced to take a step back to clearly assess what it is he’s walked in on, or rather, wrap his head around it. _

 

_ Its back faces him so he is not able to see the features on its face, but a seemingly divine creature is straddling a human and allowing itself to be sullied by a heinous act of nature. _

 

_ It is an unsightly, deplorable sight, and yet... _

 

_ “You’re so good--ah, harder!” Another shameless cry. _

  
  
  


_...it is impossible for him to cast his gaze elsewhere. It is a scene that enthralls him, entices him, excites him. _

 

_ The way the divinity flaps its enormous wings ever so slightly in time with the man’s thrusts to lift itself up only to bring itself back down harshly on his cock in a desperate attempt to achieve a larger wave of pleasure. Its body writhes constantly, never staying put for more than a few seconds at a time to catch its breath before continuing its movement and its sweet, melodious voice sends shivers tingling up his spine. And as he stares on a drifting thought passes through his mind, a horrid thought.  _

 

_ For a minute he finds himself incredibly jealous of the man instilling pleasure into this celestial being and not him, someone who is more than deserving of such an honor. _

 

_ He’s shaken by it and realizes he has been ogling the scene like some perverse teenager strung up by hormones. He needs to leave post-haste, and yet his feet stay perfectly glued to their spot beside the tree, right in the open where he can easily be spotted by either of them. It’s not a matter of questioning his morality because at this point should he be caught rumors would spread and sully his name, branding him as a grade A pervert. Yeah, that’s something he would like to avoid.  _

 

_ He takes a few steps back, quietly, meticulously but not once do his eyes leave the pair. The divinity’s movements became frantic, frenzied, as do the man’s, pounding violently into it; the sounds filling his ears, the moans, the gasps, the skin-on-skin slapping grew rampant until… _

 

- _ crack- _

 

_ A twig breaks beneath his foot, a misstep.  _

 

_ There is some hoping he has that the pair didn’t hear it, but, for some reason, this twig snapped so loudly it rivalled a jet plane and it took no less than four seconds for the two to freeze. He thinks, that’s it, it’s over, his career, say goodbye to the church, to his pupils, his friends--he’d have to start anew miles away, under a new name, etc. Without another thought  he (finally) rips his eyes from the scene, turns on his heel and sprints as fast as his legs can carry him back through the familiar path he came from.  _

 

_ He isn’t sure about the distance put between them but at one point as he’s running he takes a bold chance and looks over his shoulder, to see if he’s being followed. He isn’t. However, he can see that the divinity is staring right back at him. No, how could he know that? He doesn’t. It’s just his gut feeling that the red orb he sees before turning his attention to which direction he’s heading in is its eye. _

  
  


OoOoO

 

His eyes snap open. It’s dark. Why is that? 

 

He thinks a moment.

 

Ah. 

 

That’s right. 

 

Today is his turn to lock up the church. 

 

Sluggishly he sits up in bed, ignoring the waves of vertigo that wash over him. He glances to the nightstand next to him and the glowing green numbers read ‘8:25 p.m.’ He rubs his eyes, palms flat. Okay. He should shower.

 

He throws the blankets off his sweat soaked body, stumbling into the bathroom due to his inability to put his own needs before work. Well, it isn’t as if it’s the first time he’s been light-headed prior to work. This is nothing new to him. 

 

Blindly he slides his hand against the wall searching for the light switch. He finds it, and the light flickers on and for the first time that night he’s met with his reflection looking back at him. He looks like shit. Stubble grows in patches on his face, his eyes are dark from the lack of sleep,his hair is greasy and seemingly matted in appearance as it stood in remarkable shapes atop his head. To top it off his entire upper body is coated in a thin layer of sweat, courtesy of that dream.

 

He doesn’t stop to think, just long enough to remove his briefs and then he steps inside the shower and flips the dial until it’s ice cold water drenching him. It’s fucking freezing, plus he’s risking a cold...he doesn’t care. Whenever he has that dream he has an insuperable urge to cleanse himself.

 

A priest in his late twenties ,he made the vow long ago to keep his being pure for Him. Many tried to coax him out of the decision, ‘ _ you’ll miss out on a ton of fun someone your age needs’  _ and while yes, he agreed to some extent, he had already made up his mind by the time it was brought up for frivolous conversation purposes. Hell, when he was younger he thought he  _ was _ making the wrong choice but since that dream began plaguing him he figured becoming a priest might save him from it. 

 

For years he’s wondered where it came and to those he spoke to (in hopes he’d receive some form of advice) told him it was probably because he was pent up, considering his age at the time. Somehow that didn’t fit. He was  _ sure  _ something had to have happened yet when he tried to think of what his mind came up blank. All he knew is that it’s eerily realistic--like a memory wedged in the back of his mind. No. He’s positive it’s not real. Yes, he is a man of God but he also has quite a few  _ thoughts  _ about the whole religion thing. 

 

As an example, he doesn’t believe in heavenly archetypes--angels demons and everything in between. Simply put, most if not all things written in the bible were created by man for comfort, because to believe in such things is to believe there will always be a form of salvation at the end of the road, that maybe they  _ won’t  _ go to hell because an angel will ‘save’ them. This isn’t to say he thinks there is no god (or gods) at all, though; he definitely believes in a higher being, just not those fictitious creatures you’d find in a mythology book. Obviously disclosing such beliefs can cause a stir in the community so he speaks nothing of them. 

 

The shower, having run for over ten minutes, has thoroughly drenched him to the bone. He switches the dial, shutting off the stream of water.

 

He’d have to hurry now; he doesn’t want to run anymore late than he already is.

 

OoOoO

 

The final patron of the church takes their leave, a plump elderly woman scurrying out the front doors while also thanking Amon for holding them open for her. He tells her it comes at no expense and waves her off. Amon feigns a smile until her pudgy form is no longer within his sight before letting it drop to its stoic preface. He pulls the double doors closed, locking them hurriedly lest some lone wolf searching for the meaning of life comes knocking.  

 

He shakes them once, a quick check to make sure they’re properly locked in place. Neither of the doors budge. Good. All that’s left is to go through each aisle to see if any trash was left, a few forms to fill out in the back office, and he’d be done. Thankfully he wasn’t up for sermons today or else he’d have a problem with it.

 

“Being around people has always been difficult for me, so I’m glad you sent that woman on her way, I just don’t get how you could have talked to her for so long.” 

 

“Ah, yeah, it comes with the-” Amon cuts himself off and whips his body around, eyes bouncing frantically every which way in the dimly lit church searching for the source of the unknown voice. The pews lined in two separate rows opposite the other are empty and both doors on either side of the hall had already been shut tight. There is no one standing at the far side where the speaker’s podium sits and no one is at the front door (evidently, because that’s where he’s standing). 

 

“Who’s there?!” He shouts, finally.

 

“No time for small talk? You’re as brash as ever.” The lively voice comments. 

 

Amon’s eyes dart every which way, scanning and scanning for  _ someone  _ but he sees no one. Fear sets upon him, his veins purging with adrenaline. He reaches behind him, placing a hand on the curved door handle. 

 

“You talk like you know me.” He responds, voice shaky yet firm. If he can buy some time maybe…

 

“I  _ do  _ know you; we’ve met, actually, but I have to say you were a lot less bright.” 

 

“I’m not sure who you are but I’m sure I’ve never met you.” 

 

A quiet chuckle fills the empty hall. It’s as if they were using a microphone to speak over the intercom system but Amon can clearly see no one is standing anywhere near the podium. 

 

“You can’t know that without seeing me first.” 

 

“Why not show yourself, then?” 

 

“I can...but will you stay and not run? That’s the important question.” 

 

“Why would that matter, you’re probably just some creep desperate for money and you decided a church was the best place to steal from.” Somehow he didn’t think that’s what he’s dealing with. There’s something...strange about this presence.  

 

“Honest to Him I didn’t see you as the observant type, then again you took a shot in the dark and happened to hit one of your marks. I do want something but it is not money.”

 

“Really? Then tell me what it is you want so we can wrap this thing up because, frankly, I’m tired and want to go home.” He fakes his annoyance because in truth he’s terrified of whatever it is speaking to him (at this point though it’s as if he’s holding simple banter with a condescending stranger he has no time for). 

 

“Patience, patience. To put it simply, I want  _ you,  _ Father.”

 

That comes as a surprise, so much so his grip on the door handle loosens considerably and finds his hand back at his side. “Me? What does that even-”

 

A figure, large and pitch black suddenly appears in front of him. A monster? No...it is…

 

It spreads its wings apart, the black dissipating to show a slim, young man with a head of white hair inside. He bows, a polite gesture, and Amon is dumbfounded. 

 

“What...are you?”

 

_ He knows.  _

 

“What am I? I think you know the answer you just refuse to acknowledge what is and what is not, Father.” He straightens his posture, standing up, back straight, meeting Amon’s shocked expression with one of mild amusement. He folds his still spread wings behind his back and folds his arms over his chest. 

 

“Are you surprised to see me after so long?” He says it like they were old friends.

 

Amon  _ should  _ be afraid, he  _ should  _ be scrambling for fear of his life but he is ensnared in this being’s encapsulating beauty. Every bit of him; his lips, nose, cheeks, eyes, hair, body--everything is on an ethereal plane of graceful elegance. 

 

_ It wasn’t a dream. _

 

“Then...what is it you want?” His voice trembles audibly. 

 

The angel tilts his head to its side, a quizzical expression replacing his grin. 

 

“No, the question isn’t what  _ I  _ want, it’s what  _ you  _ want. Ah, but I seem to know the answer to that as well.” He snickers, the sound reverberating throughout the empty hall. Its echoes seem to mock Amon. 

 

_ He had always known.  _

 

“You don’t know what I want.” He growls lowly, though the angel seems to find this amusing.

 

Clapping his hands as though applauding a mediocre performance, he titters, “On the contrary, Father, I know  _ exactly  _ what you want. It’s something you deny your entire life when becoming one with the church, but that’s not the reason you so strongly deny it, is it?”

 

Amon wants to say something but he finds his words and voice failing him. He can only lock eyes with him.

 

The angel shrugs. “No need to be so tense; you just hate to hear the truth. And, the truth is, you’ve been  _ specifically _ lusting after an angel, which is why it  _ kills you  _ so much. Not only do you firmly believe a being such as myself couldn’t  _ possibly  _ exist you also deny that even  _ if _ such a divine being exists and it falls to its own selfish, lustful desires, it makes me as human as any other on this filthy Earth. It eats you  _ alive  _ knowing such a beautiful being would rather choose to dwell in such a place, because then there is no chance of saving  _ you. _ ” He pauses a moment to take a look at Amon. The latter says nothing.

 

“I’m sure you wanted to believe it was all some nightmare, because any religious fellow would have done the same, but you couldn’t. You saw it with your own eyes and instead of choosing to accept my divine existence you buried it, or tried to.You denied yourself the truth and it came back to haunt you in the form of a dream, isn’t that right?” The angel points out. 

 

“How do you know about that?” Amon is visibly shaken; he takes a step back.

 

“We are all knowing creatures, us angels and we can choose who to keep an eye on. That day I became curious, because most people would have run the moment they saw me but you stayed, watching me.” Amon expresses clear shock, the angel smiles sweetly. “Yes, I knew. And it got me wondering. ‘ _ Why did he stay?’  _ I asked myself many times. You, a man of God stooping so low as to want to fuck me, an angel. And these answers are always simpler than we think, aren’t they, Father?. Since I’ve already been tainted you thought you could save me and return me back to His world, and as thanks I would rid this perverse mindset of yours in exchange.” 

 

“No! I was surprised and I-” He denies, defensive. The angel places a hand over his mouth as if to stifle a laugh. “I, I  _ don’t.  _ Why would I want to-” He can no longer keep his unwavering gaze on the divine creature, and looks at the floor, hoping the answer could very well be there. But no. The answer was already out in the open. All he has to do is accept it.

 

“How does it read in that nonsensical book? ‘ _ Angels are pure and free from sin, so long as they do as God bids and do not covet, do not lust, do not sin,’  _ or something along those lines. Apparently we’re also here to guide humans in times of need, but, what happens when an angel chooses to satisfy their own desires?” He gestures casually to his entire body. “We become this. No longer one of the pure, but one of  _ you. _ Is it selfish? I wouldn’t say so. What’s wrong with wanting to explore pleasures and experience things we cannot when we have reins and collars tied ‘round our throats and wings.”

 

What he is saying doesn’t sound terrible, yet at the same time there’s an unsettling aspect about it; perhaps it’s, as he had said,  _ because  _ he’s fallen by choice that it doesn’t sit well in Amon’s stomach. 

 

“I digress.” He sighs, shaking his head. “This whole meeting isn’t about me, it’s about  _ you.  _ I know you want to be saved and I can help you with that, and I can grant you true appraisal; all you have to do is accept what you have so long denied yourself.” The angel spreads his arms and wings wide-a welcoming embrace. His expression, which has been playing from mildly amused to  _ very  _ amused shifts to an almost sympathetic smile. 

 

Amon takes another step back, instinctively, his back now against the doors.

 

Every fiber of Amon’s being tells him to run. He knows, he  _ knows  _ he must resist temptation, resist all that he’s ever resisted but he can’t, not this time, not when what he’s yearned for his entire life stands before him, beckoning him. 

 

_ Run.  _

 

“Why are you hesitating, hm?” His mellifluous tone soothes extinguishes the hostile anger boiling inside him. His tensed shoulders relax, as does his rigid posture and clenched jaw; his face loses its hateful expression and a warmness spreads throughout him making him feel...at ease.

 

What is this?

 

“...I have to. If I don’t defy you then I’d soil His name in  _ His  _ house.” Amon means for it to sound intimidating-cool, even-but all he hears is a hushed voice, unconvincing and pathetic.

 

“Then why is it, Father, that you’ve already taken two steps towards me?” It isn’t meant to mock him, just to point it out.

 

“Wha-no, what are you-” His eyes flick to his feet to prove the angel wrong but he... _ had  _ moved closer. His back, he realizes, is no longer pressing against the doors and he’s taken two steps and a half. He looks back up to the angel, its arms open wide, a gentle, understanding visage replacing all indications of mockery he had moments ago. 

 

“Don’t fight it.”

 

_ Run. _

 

“I…” 

 

_ Run. _

 

“Come.”

 

OoOoO

 

The texture of his feathery wings wrapped tightly around his back is inconceivably soft, velvety, even. They hold him steady, as well as keeping him in place--it reminds him of being bound by ropes. He almost,  _ almost,  _ feels like a prisoner but how can he call himself that if he is not being forced? If he is not refusing something that, for  _ so long  _ he has wanted? No. He is not a prisoner for realizing his own truth, it’s the opposite. He’s free. He understands that now. 

 

“Do I feel good, Father?” His low, panted breaths echo throughout the empty building, as do his moans and grunts and slaps of their sweat-slicked skin. Amon doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, a few hours at least, but these feelings of pleasure...he can’t get enough. 

 

His hands on either side of the angel’s head he clutches the edge of the steps below them for support. The angel tilts his head back, kissing the shallow of Amon’s neck, hands running up and down the curves of his back, nails digging into his skin whenever Amon strikes a particularly sensitive area. The slight sting from each scratch is a reminder everything happening isn’t a dream. 

 

“Better than I could have ever imagined.” Amon groans against his ear while trying to keep a steady pace, it’s quite difficult.He thrusts his hips sporadically, his pace switching between excruciatingly slow and unbearably fast. The angel doesn’t mind this, however. He squeals in delight whenever he picks up the pace that dissipate into whimpers of  _ ‘please go slower, I want to last.’  _ Amon can hardly keep himself from cumming when such obscene cries are spilled messily next to his ear. 

 

“ _ Fuck,  _ you’re better than I thought too.” He gasps when Amon shoves his cock roughly back into his hole, eliciting a lusty moan seconds after. “Gentle, be gentle with me or I’ll break~” The angel tightens his hole; Amon lets groans loudly as he tosses his head back, again trying to keep himself from reaching orgasm. 

 

“Don’t stop, keep going, Father.” 

 

A pair of lips press to the curve of his neck, biting and sucking along its arched shape, encouraging him to continue. When Amon still does not, he wraps his legs around his waist and pushes himself down on his cock. The former glances at him, surprised to see how needy he’s being. The angel retracts his mouth from Amon’s now reddening neck and gives him a playful smirk, seeing how fixated the priest is on him. He licks his lips before speaking: 

 

“How long do you think you can keep up with me? This is our fourth round but I’m not close to being finished with you.” 

 

“...”

 

“Do you want me to let you go?”

 

“No, never.”

 

“Good, I wasn’t planning to anyways. Now hurry up and fuck me, Father.”

 

He shakes his head. 

 

“Tell me what you’re name is first.”

 

“Aha.”

 

“I won’t let you come if you don’t.”

 

“You’re so hasty, Amon Koutarou. My name is Kaneki Ken, and it’s such an  _ honor  _ to make your acquaintance.” 

 

Amon slams his hips into Kaneki, thrusting erratically into him repeatedly. Kaneki’s arms around his torso tighten their grip, and his moans grow louder and louder; neither are able to speak as they frantically try to find release. Amon groans his name, repeating it, tasting it, relishing it as does Kaneki. Kaneki’s wings unravel from their hold on Amon’s back and they spread out and flutter infrequently. He’s close, and so is Amon.

 

“ _ Kaneki, Kaneki, Kaneki…”  _ He pounds ruthlessly into Kaneki’s already abused hole, not wanting it to end but he can hold out for only so long. His body ceases as his orgasm hits him hard, a groan hissing through his grit teeth. Kaneki’s entrance tightens again around his cock while he reaches his, moaning Amon’s name and throwing his head back, the pleasure overcoming him. 

 

One thought passes through Amon’s head while he comes down from his high and as he tries catching his breath. 

 

“How could I have gone so long without this?”


End file.
